


Love Notes

by Lalaen



Series: Secret Admirer [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Community: snkkink, M/M, Secret Admirer, awkward teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one you stuff in your pocket immediately, and its presence there is on the forefront of your mind all day. The tiny slip of paper is a physical weight against your leg. You feel like you're constantly on the lookout for someone with their eyes on you, but then you feel obscenely paranoid.</p><p>You tell yourself you're really overreacting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Notes

You notice the pink paper the second you open your locker.

It's probably because it's pink. You've never owned a piece of pink paper in your life - how could you not notice? As you awkwardly bend to pick it up, you feel yourself starting to blush. A lot of possibilities are going through your head, and none of them are good. It doesn't even cross your mind to try and explain why any potential tormentor would write something on pink paper. Being an early bloomer and a good half a foot taller than many of the other sixteen-year-old guys is more than enough to make you feel vulnerable, and your hands shake as you struggle to unfold it from its neat little quarters.

'hey,

its kind of embarrassing, but i cant stop staring at you. the way you blush at everything is just way too cute. i know youre self conscious, but youve got nothing to be so shy about. so smile handsome!

your secret admirer'

Your face is cherry red, and you fumble to stuff the note in your locker at light speed, as if someone could've seen you looking at it - or more impossibly, read it over your shoulder. You slam the locker, try unsuccessfully half a dozen times to snap the lock before managing it, and resist the urge to throw your back against it too.

Okay. No one saw. Probably.

Honestly, a letter like that is a little hard to forget, especially for someone like you. Maybe if you were a girl it wouldn't be so weird - though you can only assume girls also wrote anonymous notes to guys they liked?

It was on pink paper after all.

Every time you think of it - and of course you can't help but think of it constantly - you start to flush and sweat. That only makes you think of 'the way you blush at everything is just way too cute', which spirals you into such embarrassment that you get a little lightheaded.

By the end of the day, you're looking upon your locker with dread. Half of you wants to see it again; make sure it's real, make sure there isn't something on the back that reveals it as a dumb joke. The rest of you, however, is mortified into oblivion at even the idea of looking at it.

Then there's the ridiculous, paranoid scenarios that you can't stop going through in your mind. Maybe you'll open your locker and hundreds of pink folded papers will fall out. Maybe as soon as you pick it up, everyone will turn Exorcist-style due to their sudden inexplicable knowledge of the note and its contents.

It make you feel a little sick that you don't actually have any choice. Your bag is in there, and you clearly need to get that.

You have to talk yourself through the process of opening your locker. The combination takes a ridiculous amount of tries between your flustered shaking and your sweaty hand. You tell yourself to just act natural; rationally speaking, no one could know anything and nothing will happen to let them know.

Very methodically, you place the necessary things in your bag and fasten it, eyes determinedly avoiding the little folded pink paper that has fluttered to the bottom of your locker. You just have to act normal, if you do everything exactly the way you always do no one will have reason to suspect a thing.

It's not like people are scrutinizing your every move anyways, right? You're possibly one of the least important people in the school.

Right before you leave your locker, you bend awkwardly and scoop the paper up; quickly shoving it in your pocket. That was totally normal and unassuming? You shut the door and lock up with slightly shaking hands, cheeks burning as you hurry off to walk home. 

You can't help but glance nervously over your shoulder as you leave the hallway.

It's not until you get home and are safely shut up in your room that you finally take the note out and start reading it over and over. Despite being very safely locked away from any and all possible prying eyes, you still go red to your ears. After you've really taken it in and will have to bury your face in the pillow if you look at it any more, you start pondering the inevitable question:

who the hell wrote it?

A big part of you still thinks it's a joke, although your rational mind tells you it would be much more over-the-top if it was - no doubt complete with hearts and smiley faces. It just didn't seem 'funny' enough.

Then, you can only assume it's some other school nobody that you said two words to once, or is pursuing you due to your virtue of not being a greasy pothead or extremely creepy.

At least, you like to think you're not creepy. Girls might disagree.

The only girl you really ever speak to is Annie, and the idea of this being her is more than laughable. She doesn't think you're cute at all, she thinks you're an 'irritatingly spineless coward' or similar. It's also more than out of character for her to write a sweet little note to anyone on, of all things, pink paper.

Besides, the writing is nothing like hers.

You tell yourself to forget it. Even if you found out who it was, what would you do about it? Hide from them forever?

Most likely.

…

'hey,

its ok, i figured not a lot of people said you were handsome before. the blushing is cute too. i bet your smile is cute as hell though. hope i get to see it sometime ;)

your secret admirer' 

Oh my god, they'd been watching you.

After your initial panic, you realize pretty quickly that they'd implied in the first note that they were in a class of yours, or had some other reason to see you every day. You had been red all day yesterday and you knew it, but the very thought that this person had known they were the reason why humiliated you so much that you felt a little sick.

This one you stuff in your pocket immediately, and its presence there is on the forefront of your mind all day. The tiny slip of paper is a physical weight against your leg. You feel like you're constantly on the lookout for someone with their eyes on you, but then you feel obscenely paranoid.

You tell yourself you're really overreacting.

The notes don't stop. They come daily after second period; always on neatly folded pink paper and always slipping into your locker. As much as it embarrasses you, you can never stop yourself from reading each as soon as you receive it.

'hey,

i know you have no idea who i am, and thats probably a good thing. lets keep it like this. as much as i want to actually get to know you, i dont think itd work out, ok? it was just really killing me that you didnt know how special you are.

your secret admirer'

You don't dare admit it to yourself, but underneath the all-consuming embarrassment you're starting to feel really flattered. You never could have expected anything like this, and you're still utterly baffled that someone actually thinks all these things about you.

The new embarrassment is that you always find yourself subconsciously reading the notes in a man's voice, despite the pink paper and the fact that it really must be a girl.

You might have had a small freakout about what that means for your sexuality; but after you re-read the notes you've collected thus far you tell yourself that it must be the protective, almost parental tone that you're associating as male.

You think that very tone should probably insult you. The thought that some weird nerdy girl wants you to be her momma's boy or something equally weird should not be something you're okay with.

Yet, the thing you're sweating over is that you'd apparently rather it be a guy.

God.

At least if she ever approaches you, you can tell her you're gay. Though the thought of that getting out to the school is genuinely nauseating.

'hey,

i always feel like such a scumbag for some of the things i write in these. im sorry for how creepy i am, its almost like i cant help it. im not actually like this i swear.

sometimes i just think about you a lot. its probably pretty gross of me, but i hope because of these awful gay letters you think about me a lot too.

your secret admirer' 

It's definitely a guy, you decide with honestly not that much surprise. This disturbs you a lot less than it should.

You can't bring yourself to find him creepy.

…

You sit in the back of your english class, trying your very best to be as non-existent as possible. All of the noisy jocks are in this class, and although it's very rare for any of them to actually say anything to you; you are always terrified that they will.

You wish you were not so tall so that you were less noticeable. If you were shorter you could shrink down smaller. As it is, hunching your shoulders makes you no less obtrusive than you already are; so you just have to sit there and be sickeningly nervous for eighty minutes.

It's been hard to keep from rereading the latest note - you're terrified someone will spot it and ask you what it is. Even the way it's currently tucked under your pencil case so only a tiny pink corner is showing is too conspicuous in your opinion. You can't stop glancing at it, almost aching to read it over again. Your already non-existent self confidence is at its lowest in this class, surrounded by your talkative peers and trying your hardest to be invisible.

Almost without knowing what you're doing, you slowly pull the paper out from under your pencil case, trying to stop yourself from flushing even as you unfold the paper. You know you shouldn't do this; you usually do your utmost to avoid blushing in class. Someone is going to notice. 

The notes definitely still embarrass you, but you've stopped feeling sick and shaky when you look at them.

They actually make you feel kind of good.

'hey,

i convince myself that you actually like these things. i know im just flattering myself, but it makes me feel less like a stalker. 

you look down too much you know. i know its hard not to when youre tall but i think itd do wonders, babe. i wish youd look at me but i know why you dont. if i was you id avoid me too.

ive never mentioned it, but youre the only one who knows im gay. pretty sad seeing as you dont know who i am. hell, i dont even know if youre okay with me being a dude and all. i tell myself you are but its just to make me feel better.

guess i just want you to know that youre not the only one who feels alone.

your secret admirer' 

The warmth in your face spreads down to the rest of you in a way that's not altogether awful. In fact, it's almost… good.

You would swear you feel eyes on you, and you look up suddenly out of pure paranoia. Someone is looking at you.

It's Reiner Braun - someone important on the football team, though you're not sure who. Linebacker? You don't even really know the definition of that title for certain. He's also among the smuggest and most obnoxious of the group, known for being something of a class clown.

Needless to say, him looking right at you like that is enough to scare the crap out of you. Bright red, you stare at your desk; almost shaking as you hope he looks away. You have to resist the urge to stuff the little pink paper away, knowing that'll only call attention to it.

You know he's the kind of guy to take it away and read it to the class.

Not daring to move, you pretend to listen to the teacher while sweat drips down your spine. It seems like hours, but is probably only five minutes. You glance up quickly, and are relieved to see that he's not looking any more. Your hands still shake as you carefully refold the note. You would hold it in your hand to hide it, but your palm is damp with sweat so you don't want to risk it. Instead, you slide your binder over it.

…

Sometimes the notes are quite long, and you love that. It makes you feel almost close to the guy. As much as that scares you, you suppose you can't help it. He's the only person who's tried to get close to you, ever.

He really opens up in some of his notes, and you can't pretend you don't understand a lot of the feelings he expresses. You do look forward to them through second period every day, leaving as early as you can and barely able to restrain yourself from jogging through the halls back to your locker. Walking too fast made people look at you, and you still want anything but to call attention to yourself.

One day, in addition to the little pink paper; you find a small manilla envelope that had obviously also been stuffed through the slot in your locker. Immediately you feel yourself blush, even though you've moved past being terribly embarrassed by merely looking at the notes. He must have given you some kind of gift. Maybe you shouldn't be surprised, but you'd never even began to suspect it. You just kind of stare at it in shock, your face burning, until the bell snaps you out of it. You look up quickly, then grab the note before slamming the locker shut. No way you can open that envelope without anyone noticing - it's far safer to just wait and open it at home.

Though you've become far less paranoid about reading the notes, you still wait until the seats around you in your next class have been filled and take a quick glance around before you carefully unfold it. Your binder and pencil case form a short but effective barrier at the top of your desk.

'hey,

hope this isnt pushing it too much. guess im kind of into the idea of you wearing something i got you. this is your chance to get me to fuck off if this whole thing creeps you out.

still waiting to see you smile.

your secret admirer'

Your stomach twists and you make yourself swallow. If you'd have grabbed that envelope, you'd be resisting opening it right now despite the risk of people seeing.

Even you can admit to yourself that you don't want him to fuck off.

It's almost impossible to get the envelope off of your mind, and more so to stop thinking about the fact that he evidently wants to claim you as his. You're not stupid. You know that's what it's about.

You're really okay with it. In fact you're a little freaked out by how okay with it you are. You shift in your chair uncomfortably, trying to ease the not-entirely-unpleasant squirming in your stomach.

The line of thought screeches to a halt when you realize with dawning horror that you're a little turned on. You immediately go about as red as you can get, then panic because surely, surely someone will notice.

Of course in this case, panicking solves the problem and as soon as you realize that you just need to take a few deep breaths to calm down.

After class, you can't stand it any more. As foolish as you think it is, as much as you're worried that someone or notice or that it'll invoke another inconvenient reaction in you; you need to open the envelope.

You kind of lean into your locker, like people do when they're hiding the fact that they're texting. You have to take a deep breath and tell yourself it's a very normal sight that no one will question before you manage to tear the envelope.

What falls into your hand is a plain steel dog tag on a thin ball chain. You'd had no idea what to suspect, but you feel like this is not too surprising. Turning it over with shaking hands, you see numbers etched in the back.

It isn't until later in the day, long after you've put it on, that you realize the numbers are a date.

…

Honestly, it doesn't occur to you right away that the date could in fact correspond to when your secret admirer started sending you the notes. 

You don't take the necklace off. Every morning when you look in the mirror after your shower, you flush a bit when you see it hanging between your collarbones. It matters shockingly little that you don't know who the guy is - you feel like you do, and the secret held between you feels like something special.

It makes you feel like going to school for the first time in a long time. Even sullen Annie has noticed the lightening in your mood.

She's picking at her fries in the cafeteria where the two of you sit tucked away in the corner; hiding from the majority of the roaring noise. "You act like you're getting laid." She says in a monotone, peering out from under her long bangs.

You flush, sputtering at her. She kind of just smirks a smirk that tells you she's very aware you're not; then her eyes suddenly narrow before she deftly dodges a penny that flies through the air like a missile from somewhere else in the cafeteria. There's no knowing if it was specifically thrown at the two of you or not; though as the loners in the corner that wouldn't be much new.

"Nice necklace." She mumbles, barely audible over the noise in the room. Before you have time to really register what she just said, she shoves a dollar bill at you across the table. "Go get me a doctor pepper."

You get up to do it without hesitation. Your obedience is probably the main reason that some people assume you're dating, but you just know that an Annie whose demands are met is a much less nasty Annie. Plus, whenever you try to say no, words just don't come out of your mouth.

The very next day, you find another little envelope in your locker. This time the note is taped to it, and a quick look shows you that it's very short. 

'hey

really hope i didnt read you wrong.

thought theyd look good on you.

your secret admirer'

This time, you don't even pretend you can wait. You hide in your locker and tear the top of the envelope with shaky hands.

When you see what's inside, it's all you can do not to yelp out loud and drop it. You settle for glowing red and sucking in a very sharp breath.

He got you briefs. All you can do is choke and try not to die of embarrassment. You weakly stuff the envelope into the bottom of your bag, trying to do something about your blush.

And your erection.

You breathe deep and try to think about anything other than how much this guy wants to stake his claim on you; because that is not helping at all.

…

When you get out of second period almost fifteen minutes early, you can't get to your locker fast enough. It's become impossible to lie to yourself about your daily excitement over the notes. 

However, when you get to your locker; someone is already there. At first glance, you assume it's a guy assigned to a neighbouring locker. It's not something that hasn't happened before. As soon as you put more than a moment's thought into it, you remember that to your right is a little asian girl and to the left a long haired stoner. Neither of them were blond, stocky or had such short hair.

You panic a little, having no idea what to do about a strange person being at your locker. You're about to back up and shuffle off to do a lap of the school hallways and come back in a few minutes when the intruder is gone; something makes you step forwards instead.

"Uh. Hey." You're not sure if he can even hear you, the words come out so quiet. You reach out as if to touch his shoulder, though you know you never could. Your hand just hovers there ineffectively.

Somehow, he does hear you. He spins on his heel, and the face that's now staring up at you with embarrassed shock is familiar. 

It's Reiner Braun. He's looking uncharacteristically like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide; a blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks. You could never have imagined him with that expression on his face, or for that matter, standing in front of your locker.

You definitely never could have imagined him with a piece of pink paper folded into quarters in one hand.

You stare at the note in his hand, almost as dumbfounded as he is; and he stares at you staring at it. Both of you seem unable to speak - you know you are. You're having trouble even processing the situation.

Then you notice the steel dog tag hanging around his neck. You don't have to be told that it's the twin of the one you're wearing, that much is obvious.

You look back at his face, still trying to take in the implications. You know you're very red, but for once it's not just you.

He's trying to open his mouth to say something, but it isn't coming. You certainly know that feeling. Your eyes meet his. Suddenly, you know exactly what to do.

You smile at him.

**Author's Note:**

> in high school i sat with this girl who always wore a cheap cat collar with a bell on it and thought she was a wolf demon from inuyasha


End file.
